


What It All Comes Down To

by Spindizzy



Category: Pet Shop of Horrors
Genre: Community: fanfic100, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spindizzy/pseuds/Spindizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it really a choice if you couldn't force yourself to take that road with a gun on you? [Spoilers for volume ten.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It All Comes Down To

What it came down to, really, was a choice.

He could stay, or he could go.

At first glance, staying would be the easier option. The crutches, the injuries, the medication; all of that made it difficult to _stand,_ let alone walk. His work was here - and really, they'd do a _shit_ job without him to take the tough cases, because he was one of LAPD's best when he wasn't fixated on D. His friends were here.

The gutted remains of the petshop, his last link to D, that was here too.

But Leon _couldn't_ stay any more than he could give up breathing. He needed answers, needed to wrap up this thing with D once and for all, needed to get it all out of his head so he could actually sleep without D - or his family - or his pets - haunting his dreams.

Needed to punch D in the face. That more than anything.

* * *

What it came down to, really, was a choice.

He could suffer the pitying glances, sympathetic tones and gently concerned questions (are you all right, you need anything, let me buy you a drink, you know he's dead Leon, right). He could ignore the rumours that he'd lost his mind (trauma from the explosion you know, very sad, such a shame, had such a good future ahead). He could lie his way through phonecalls from his family (I'm fine, there's nothing I need, no I don't need you to come down, I'm keeping busy, say hi to Chris for me).

Or he could just leave.

Then they really _would_ think he'd snapped.

But it wouldn't matter, would it, because he wouldn't be there to hear it, or watch the others shoot him pitying glances when they thought he wasn't looking.

He could - and had - take being accused of insanity. He just wished people would stop being so _quiet_ about it.

* * *

What it came down to, really, was a choice.

Every time he got to the end of another false lead, every time he chased down a mysterious-death-by-animal case and didn't find a smiling petshop owner nursing a contract, every time he took on a quick job just to have the money to carry on hunting, a voice in the back of his head told him to give up.

Told him that Jill was right.

That D had died in the explosion.

That the ship, the not-animals, D pushing him away, had all been a hallucination.

That he should give up, go home, forget everything he ever thought he knew about D and just get on with his life.

He couldn't.

Chris called him religiously every week, despite Uncle squawking about the phone bill. Even when the calls woke him up at three in the morning - time differences were a bitch - and he was answering the phone in his sleep, he could hear the hope in Chris's voice.

The choice was years of wandering, or never being able to look Chris in the eye again. Some choice.

* * *

What it came down to, really, was a choice.

Kill D or kiss him.


End file.
